


Dreamt for Light Years

by morningwar



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Compliant, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morningwar/pseuds/morningwar
Summary: Gabe, always the romantic, had told him once that death was painless. That in your dying moments, you'd see your life as you lived it, flashing before your eyes.He's wrong, Bucky thinks absently, counting down the seconds to the moment he finally hits the ground. All he sees is Steve.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the song [Saturn by Sleeping at Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h3lWwMHFhnA). I played it on repeat while writing this because it made me feel feelings. I was also inspired by some crazy good art that I'll link at the end.

_You taught me the courage of stars before you left_  
_How light carries on endlessly, even after death_  
_With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite_  
_How rare and beautiful it is to even exist_

\---

He lets go of the now-useless railing the moment it creaks and snaps away from off the side of the train. The wind whips it away immediately, carrying him along with it.

The dark mass of the train thunders out of reach, even as he stretches nerveless fingers out towards it, searching out the other set of fingers reaching back to him. 

The blizzard flickers around him, white and black and white again. Gabe, always the romantic, had told him once that death was painless. That in your dying moments, you'd see your life as you lived it, flashing before your eyes.

 _He's wrong_ , Bucky thinks absently, counting down the seconds to the moment his back finally hits the ground. All he sees is Steve.

 _One_.

\---

There's a fight in the middle of the sandbox, and Mrs Jacobson is too busy dealing with Edgar Hensler to notice, because he's wet his pants again and she's trying to get him to stop crying and take them off.

The scuffle is as violent as it can be for a couple of first-graders. Bucky watches with interest from his vantage point on the slide as one boy shoves the other to the ground and tries to sit on him so he can't get up. The smaller boy squirms, quick as a fish, twisting away and throwing up a cloud of sand. The other boy starts bawling and rubbing at his eyes, and just like that, the fight's over.

Mrs Jacobson hurries over, a soggy pair of pants in hand, and only has time to glare at the smirking kid before dragging the howling boy away to the bathroom with her too.

Bucky slides down to meet the victor. "You're a dirty cheat," he says immediately, because he's not very good at making friends.

They end up rolling around, each trying to pin the other, but the sun is hot and the sand is scratchy and he doesn't really know why they're fighting in the first place, so their movements turn into sort of a play-fight and they throw themselves around dramatically, feigning serious injury and making exploding sounds.

The boy's movements are convincing. His wheezing gets louder and he thumps his hand against his chest weakly, shaking his head. Confused, Bucky stops. This isn't part of their game. He gets up, but the boy stays in the sand, thrashing weakly. It's not fun anymore, and the grin slips off his face.

He runs to the bathroom screaming for Mrs Jacobson. 

That's the first time he meets Steve. He meets Mrs Rogers too on the same day, when she comes to school early to take Steve home. Mrs Jacobson is all praises for Bucky for "being alert and saving little Steven's life", but all Bucky can do is shrink back and hide behind the teacher when Mrs Rogers crouches down to thank him herself.

They don't know it was his fault that Steve almost died in the first place, but Steve never tells anyone that. On the contrary, Steve spends the next few weeks telling everyone in school that Bucky's his best friend because he saved Steve's life.

Bucky lets him do it. He'd almost killed the kid, after all.

\---

They're too loud, and Mrs Rogers is going to hear them if they keep it up. Bucky hopes the thin sheet tented above both their heads is enough to muffle the sound. They huddle closely over a single lit candle, delighting in their secret midnight discussion over their favourite book.

"Come on, tell me," Steve whispers fiercely.

"The Wizard's not even real," Bucky protests. "He can't give me anything!"

"Yes, but," says Steve, petulantly. "Just imagine it. If he  _could."_

"If he could," Bucky echoes, sighing. "I dunno, Stevie."

"I know what I'd ask," Steve says loudly, and Bucky shushes him and shoots him a warning glare. "I'd ask to be bigger and stronger."

"That's two things, you greedy little shit." Bucky shoves at him and Steve laughs breathlessly, his eyes glittering. Then he gets serious. "Ain't nothin' wrong with the way you look, you know."

"That what Ma told you to say? Come on, Bucky, don't be like that. I'm being serious."

Bucky looks at his small form carefully, his sloping shoulders and thin bones like a bird. The candle flickers with their heavy breaths. Before him, Steve's shadow trembles, his skin aflame. "I'm being serious, too," Bucky says eventually, his stomach doing tiny flips as he says it, and he suddenly feels like he needs to pee.

Steve smiles then, bright and brilliant like a flame. Then a corner of the sheet touches the candle, and their alarmed shouts wakes Mrs Rogers immediately.

\---

It's by accident that he finds Steve's sketches. Steve's in the kitchen drying the dishes when Bucky comes over to do some homework. He'd been too lazy to bring his own stationery, though.

"I have some pencils in my bag!" Steve shouts from the other room. Bucky rummages through the mess and can't find any pencils, except for one wedged inside a little notebook. He takes it out and lets the book fall open, gasping as the pencil rolls out.

It's just a simple sketch, but it's unmistakeable and precise. Brooklyn Bridge stretches across both pages, perfectly shaded and impeccably straight. He flips back a few pages. Coney Island, the school building, the street outside his house.

"Oh," Steve says dumbly, and Bucky looks up, his face openly amazed.

"Jesus, Steve, you drew all this?" He traces his fingers over the artwork lightly.

Steve shrugs. "It passes the time."

Bucky gives a low whistle, shaking his head. "You're gonna be an artist someday. Or an architect. These are somethin' else, pal."

Now Steve's blushing, the high points of his cheeks colouring. He ducks his head a little, abashed but obviously pleased, as Bucky hands the sketchbook back to him. "Ya think?"

"I know talent when I see it," Bucky declares, grinning.

"It's not much. I only do buildings an' all. People're a lot harder. Need a hell of a lot more practice."

"Yeah?" Bucky drawls. "You could practice on me."

Steve blushes harder and throws the forgotten pencil at him.

\---

He's lying on dewy grass. The back of his shirt is almost soaked through, but the night air is still and warm, so he doesn't mind. Steve's shaking his leg casually, making their ankles knock every other second. The sky's unusually clear, and they lie comfortably in the dark, drinking in the sight. Bucky feels like he could lie there forever, watching the slow spin of stars above their heads.

Steve's voice is a soothing current. He talks about school first, then about the stars, and outer space, and beyond. Bucky half-listens, watching the distant stars pulse along to the rhythm of his speech.

"North Star," Steve points out. "So you'll never get lost or need a compass."

"Until it rains," Bucky says snidely, but Steve ignores him. Steve shows him the constellations, the planets, and Bucky pretends to see them too. He doesn't. All he can see is a bunch of pretty lights, hanging in the sky.

"Ma says everything in the universe's connected. The moon, the stars, we're a part of everything."

"That so."

"The universe is one being, she says. When we die, we go back into the infinite, where we belong. And we're whole again."

Bucky laughs lowly, and he nudges Steve's foot gently against his. "Pretty sure I'm right where I belong."

A lull, and silence. He can feel his own heartbeat throbbing in his veins, and his head is spinning, drunk on the magic of the night.

Steve's breath is warm against his ear. "Buck," he whispers thickly, and Bucky's already turning to face him, staring into the liquid dark of his wide eyes, the spidery shadows of lashes sweeping down his cheeks. Staring at his lips, the way the soft edges are traced by starlight. All at once he feels a deep alien ache in his chest, hollow and wanting. The earth shifts, tilts; gravity pulls them closer.

Cold fingertips brush his own.

Bucky jerks and snatches his hand away. Already, his face is turning hot, even though he doesn't know why. He sits up, running his hand awkwardly through his damp hair. "It's getting late," he blurts, and he's staggering to his feet before he realises it. "I'll. See you around."

Days, weeks, months, years later, he would think about how he could have done things differently. He would think about how he should have pushed his fingers through Steve's hair instead of his own. He would think about whether Steve's lips would have been cold that night, like his fingers had been. He would think about touching their lips together, lightly at first, then harder. He would think about how, instead of pulling his hand away, he should have held on tight and never let go.

\---

He's lost all feeling in his arms and legs. Whether it's from the cold or from the terror, he's not sure. He wants to laugh because it's such a long way down, and he wants to laugh because he's almost sure that this is all a really bad dream. He wants to laugh because this is definitely not happening, but it is, and it's not funny. He doesn't laugh.

The wind snatches his breath away. He keeps his eyes closed tight, because if he can't see what's happening, there's a chance it's all in his imagination.

 _Two_.

\---

"Why do you fight so much if you know you can't win?" Bucky asks exasperatedly, throwing his arms up in frustration, as Steve sidles up to him in school with a black eye and a split lip.

"How do you know I didn't win?" Steve asks sullenly, glaring at Bucky out of his one good eye.

Bucky sighs and doesn't respond, because Steve has a bad habit of baiting people to poke fun at his size, and he's not going to fall for it. "Not everything has to end in a fight, Steve."

"I'd be better if you'd only teach me your boxing moves, you selfish jerk," Steve hisses, shoving at him. Bucky dodges calmly and shakes his head.

"Nah," he says lightly, grinning hard. "It's too fun to watch you fight like a girl."

He changes his mind soon after. It's about three weeks later and Steve's supposed to meet him at the theatre at 8. Bucky waits half an hour for him to show, then sighs in irritation and sets off for Steve's place. He must have overslept again, or forgotten the time.

He doesn't know what makes him turn his head, but he does so, just as he passes a particularly narrow alley. The alley's dark and far from the nearest street lamp, so all he can see is a couple of hulking shadows, moving swiftly. Then he hears a quiet whimper and the unmistakeable  _thuds_ of flesh hitting flesh.

Instinctively, he squints and draws nearer, a moth to a flame. He doesn't know it's Steve on the floor until he gets close enough to hear what they're hissing under their breath.

"That's it, cry for your ma, you fuckin' fairy," one of them spits, before dealing a sharp kick again.

He'd initially thought to just break the fight up and chase them off like what he usually does, but something about what the boy says makes Bucky see red. He yanks the guy around to face him and clocks him so hard he feels the vibration all the way to his collarbone. The other two boys respond a split second later, but Bucky's ready.

By the time he's done with them, they're out cold, their faces pressed against the greasy pavement. Bucky's knuckles are sore, and later he discovers a broken tooth embedded in his finger. He drags Steve to his feet and gives him a once-over before gently leading him home.

They don't talk about what the boys had been saying. The following day, Bucky agrees to teach Steve some boxing techniques. "Only for self-defence," he warns, and Steve crosses his heart.

\---

Steve loves Bucky's first serious girlfriend way more than Bucky ever does. They talk about everything, from the way they like their apple pie ("It's the  _pie_ that's the most important, not the apple," they'd both insist) to their love for art. When Bucky finally works up the courage to end it with her, Steve's more upset than he is.

"But she was so great! We had so much in common," he protests sadly. "And she was such a great dancer, too. She was crazy about you. You were _it_ for her, Buck _._ "

"How'd you know?"

"Oh," Steve looks away pointedly, fiddling with his shirt. "You know."

"Yeah. Well." Bucky tries not to get his voice stuck in his throat.  _She wasn't you,_ he wants to say. "She wasn't it for me, I guess," he says instead.

\---

The letter changes both their lives. Bucky can tell Steve's angry and upset, but there's nothing either of them can do at this point.

"It's only Basic," he says in the end, to break the silence. "I'll be back before you know it."

"And then what," Steve says flatly.

Bucky doesn't respond. Between them is a stack of old newspapers that Bucky had nicked from the train stations. 1500 DEAD IN HAWAII, it announces. CONGRESS VOTES WAR.

After Bucky gets drafted, Steve starts trying to enlist at every opportunity, even though he gets turned down on first glance half the time. They fight about it more than they should, even after Bucky leaves and returns from Basic, and even after Bucky leaves and returns from his classified Special Ops training with the British S.A.S. He'd told Steve that he'd failed Basic and had to go again.

"You're lucky, Steve," Bucky shouts, banging the plates around the kitchen in his anger. "You get safety, back here. You get a home, you get peace. You don't wanna follow me into this goddamn war. Trust me, you don't want this."

"You don't get to decide what I want," Steve yells back.

\---

More than once, alone on the front lines in Europe, Bucky dreams of the stars, of arms and legs tangling together, pale blue in the moonlight.

He wakes up gasping and sobbing, and all he can do about it is snake his hand under his waistband and spill his shame quietly into the sheets.

It's not enough, but it has to be.

\---

 _Steve,_ Bucky thinks stupidly as he spins through the air.  _I'm sorry._

_Three._

_\---_

"I didn't know you still did that," Bucky says, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

Steve jumps a foot in the air with a yelp, dropping his pencil and fumbling to shut the book hurriedly. He fails spectacularly and the book flops in midair, and a miscalculated swipe sends it to the floor by Bucky's feet. "Buck," he squeaks, looking mortified.

Bucky stops in his tracks and laughs. "Oh, Jesus, what'd I walk in on, huh? What're you drawing, a Tijuana bible? Is that why you never show me your drawings anymore?"

He ignores Steve's weak protests and picks the book up, flipping through it triumphantly. Then he stops laughing and stares, turning the pages slowly. Across the room, Steve swallows audibly. "Bucky," he starts, then stops and wrings his hands wordlessly.

They're all of him. There's one with him standing in a doorway holding a gun, another of his side profile as he leans on a pine tree enjoying a smoke. Another of his face, half in shadow; another and another and another. Something lodges in Bucky's throat. "You've been practising," he says quietly. He closes the book and tosses it back onto Steve's bed.

"Better not let Carter see those," he adds bitterly, then he leaves the tent.

\---

He watches Steve in a way that he shouldn't, but he's too drunk to care. Their leave is almost up and they'll be back on the front soon and Bucky doesn't give a flying fuck anymore about any of it. He presses his mouth into a hard line as Steve laughs, loud and easy, across the room. He's standing very close to Agent Carter, whispering something into her ear. She's smirking back at him, too, and ain't that a sweet picture.

He drinks up the rest of the shot on the table before he realises it isn't his. Thankfully, Morita's not much of a drinker, so he doesn't protest. When he glances back to Steve, Carter's arm is tucked under his, and they're bumping shoulders and giggling. She reaches out her other hand and ruffles his hair playfully, and he grins harder. Bucky's stomach twists into a hard knot.

"I'm going to. I need some air," Bucky mumbles, and heads out the back door before he does something he regrets. The cold London air hits him like a sledgehammer and he realises belatedly that it's pouring and that he's left his coat inside, but he's too far gone to care. His clothes soak up the freezing rain immediately, but it doesn't make him feel any less drunk.

The world is spinning, so he braces himself against the door frame and groans. The door opens and closes quickly. "Feelin' alright, Sarge?" Gabe asks gently, resting a heavy hand on his shoulder. Bucky groans again, leaning into the warmth of it, reaching up with his own hands to grab at it greedily. Warm skin, smooth and battle-hardened. He puts his face into it, breathing in deep, and imagines it's someone else.

"I need," Bucky manages, then stumbles forward and pushes his mouth messily on Gabe's. It opens under his in surprise, and Bucky pushes more, his eyes screwed up tight, tears pricking at the corners.  _This is what it would have felt like_ , he thinks fiercely, scraping his teeth against Gabe's lower lip.  _This is what you should have done._

Gabe pushes him away roughly, and Bucky's too drunk to read his facial expression. He falls back against the brick, huffing and swiping at his nose carelessly. The rain gets in his hair, his eyes. He's never felt more pathetic than he does now.

"Do it," he rasps, looking at Gabe's knitted brows and raised fist. "Do it, or so help me God -"

Gabe doesn't hit him. Instead, he exhales and steps in again, and his mouth is on Bucky's, warm and wet and willing. Bucky sobs and lets it happen, sagging against Gabe, his hands scrabbling for purchase and settling awkwardly on his shoulders, his fingers digging in deep. He kisses hard and wild like he's fighting, and he doesn't care, he _doesn't,_ because he's drunk and nothing matters and he doesn't want these feelings to be a part of him anymore.

Gabe's sure hands wrap around the back of his head, and he counters Bucky's desperate nipping, slow and patient and soft. He slides a thigh between Bucky's like they've done this a thousand times before, and presses him gently against the wall. Bucky whimpers more and holds on tighter. _Steve_ , he thinks wildly. _Please_.

They kiss until they taste the salt of Bucky's tears, and Gabe pulls away, shaking his head slowly from side to side. He rests his forehead against Bucky's, closing his eyes. The rain drips off his lashes. They're both wet now, and beginning to shiver. "You don't want this."

"I do," Bucky says stubbornly, and makes to kiss him again to prove it, but Gabe puts a hand on his chest, gently, to keep him away. His other hand comes around, thumb brushing at Bucky's cheeks tenderly, swiping away the rain and the tears.

"No, you don't," Gabe says quietly, sadly. "Not like this. Not with me."

Bucky closes his eyes in shame. He turns his face into Gabe's shoulder so he doesn't have to look him in the eye. "No, not with you," he agrees wetly.

Then he throws up.

\---

He thinks he's good at hiding it, until one day when they're all huddled around a roaring campfire waiting for Steve to finish up his debriefing with the Colonel. Bucky's eyes wander over to the group of them, Steve and Phillips and Carter, more than necessary, but it could easily be read as impatience. Or anxiety. He's not actually calculating the space between Steve and Carter.

"You know," Monty says suddenly, drawing Bucky's attention back to the group.

Gabe raises his eyebrows and shakes his head urgently. Monty ignores him. "I think the Captain's a fine chap, myself."

Dugan looks away like he's embarrassed by the whole thing, but Dernier watches with interest, like he's been watching a really boring game of baseball and suddenly the team's attempting to nail a suicide squeeze play. Bucky schools his features and narrows his eyes at Gabe, but his expression is wholly innocent.

"I'm just saying," Monty says again, loudly, even as Morita aims a kick at his shins. "I'm just  _saying_ , that if anyone started, you know, taking a shine to Rogers, I wouldn't blame him. Her. Them."

Dugan clears his throat and announces that he needs to take a leak. "I'm coming with," Morita pipes up.

Bucky sits rooted to his spot, flustered, watching them walk off with unprecedented urgency. "Look -"

"It's none of my business, I know," Monty continues. "But you're always so miserable, and the both of you keep taking turns making eyes at each other, and I feel like it's just my civic duty to point out that -"

"Point out what?" Steve asks, crouching down and holding his hands over the fire.  Monty shuts his mouth with a click and mumbles a half-hearted answer under his breath. Steve frowns. "What is it?"

"Your fly's undone," Bucky says smoothly. Gabe chokes on his own saliva laughing.

Then Bucky grins. "Made ya look."

"C’est vraiment des conneries," Dernier says emphatically, shaking his head sadly.

\---

They have a big mission tomorrow, and they're camping uneasily on the ledge of a mountain. Dugan grumbles about the snow and says there'll definitely be more of it soon, and Bucky wishes he doesn't ever need to see snow again. He's tired of feeling cold.

The makeshift tents they've pitched block out most of the wind, but the chill rises from the snowy ground into his bones, and he can't sleep. He can tell from Steve's short, quiet breaths that he's still awake, too. To his right, Dugan snores loud enough to bring the enemy to their doorstep, and Bucky uses that as an excuse to roll closer to Steve.

"I wasn't practising, you know," Steve whispers suddenly, like they're back in Brooklyn again and trying to fall asleep but failing because it's exciting to stay up late and they have too many things to talk about.

"What?" Bucky mumbles, trying to breathe some warmth into his hands.

"The drawings," Steve clarifies. "When I drew those portraits. I -"

"Don't," Bucky cuts in harshly, turning away immediately. _This isn't fair._ He thinks about that night under the stars, back when they were fourteen, and how he'd really wanted to kiss Steve then. He thinks about Carter and her red, red lips, and the way she looks at Steve from across a crowded room. "Just don't. I don't wanna -"

"I do," Steve insists.

Dugan grunts and shifts slightly.

"I'm tired," Bucky says instead. "Big day tomorrow. You gonna let me sleep, Cap, or do you want me to fail spectacularly and get our whole team killed?"

"Just let me," Steve says desperately, then his hands rest lightly on Bucky's shoulders, waist, wrists. He turns Bucky back to face him, and Bucky closes his eyes, his bones thrumming with want. His body seems to light up where Steve touches him, and he finds himself melting into it. He lies still and lets it happen, finally lets it happen, and doesn't pull away. When Steve's fingers brush his jaw, Bucky lets out a sigh and opens his eyes.

Steve's different now. His hands are warm and massive, his shoulders tough like a Greek god's. But his eyes are the same, soft and blue and insistent, and they draw Bucky in like the tide. His lips are the same, always slightly parted, trembling now as Bucky drops his gaze.

"Bucky," Steve says, his voice hoarse. He sounds like he's about to cry. "I want - please."

Dugan rolls over again, snorting contentedly, and Bucky blinks and clenches his fists before Steve can take his hand.

"No," Bucky chokes out. "We can't. Don't make me say it again."

Then he turns away and puts his hands under his head and forces his eyes shut, his skin burning and his heart pounding. He tries to will his erection away, cursing inwardly at his stupidity, at his cowardice.

Steve sighs and tucks his knees against Bucky's back like they're back in his living room and sleeping on couch cushions instead of packed snow.

\---

He'd been stupid all his life, Bucky realises. All this time thinking it's his job to protect Steve, to protect himself. It seemed so important at first, but now all he can do is wish he'd done differently, all over again for the thousandth time.

Falling a few hundred feet through the air really gives a guy some perspective.

_Fou -_

_\---_

He isn't dead yet, but he will be soon enough. Gabe was right for one thing, though - he can't feel anything at all. Not the snow on his cheeks, or the movement of his legs. Not the tips of his fingers. Turning his head slowly, he tries to see where he's landed.

Peerless blue eyes stare back at him, unblinking. "Found you," says Steve, his breath coming out in a gush of fog.

Bucky can't speak.  _What are you doing?_ He thinks desperately.  _You shouldn't be here. I'm sorry. I should have let you - I should have held your hand. God, all I wanted was to hold his hand._

"It's okay," Steve sighs, scooting closer. His cheeks are pink from the cold, his lips still impossibly soft, untouched by the frost.

_I'm dying, Stevie._

"It's okay," Steve says again. "Here, feel my hand. I'm right here. It's warm. Close your eyes, Buck."

 _It's warm,_ Bucky echoes faintly, his eyes drooping. It's warm and his back is wet. The night sky drapes over his eyes like a blanket. White spots dance into view like stars.

"I'm thinking about that night," Steve continues evenly. His breath warms the shell of Bucky's ear. "I'm real sorry I didn't get to kiss you then."

_I'm sorry, too._

"What can you see?"

_The - The North Star._

A low chuckle. "Don't lie to me, Bucky."

 _Tell me again,_ Bucky demands, despairing.  _Where we go when we die._

"Into the infinite," Steve says without a beat, and Bucky can almost feel his fingertips clinging to his. "Back to where it all began, where everything has a place, where we belong."

_If it's true, tell me it's true - we'll be together then? You'll find me?_

"I promise," Steve says, his voice like the wind.

Bucky wrenches his eyes open, one final time, but Steve's already gone.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> So as I mentioned, I was inspired by this super gorgeous art by [pain-art](http://pain-art.tumblr.com) on tumblr, which you should totally like and reblog from [here](http://pain-art.tumblr.com/post/153260358427/easier-to-live-a-pain-than-have-to-let-it-go).
> 
> This is also my first ever attempt at writing slash, or any kind of romance really, so please be kind. Tell me what you think - I'll be off in my corner, listening to the song and crying and ignoring all the work I need to finish. And I'm seriously considering a sequel to this in the future, just to wrap things up and change the story from UST to RST. Heh. Maybe subscribe if you're interested :D
> 
> Also shameless plug: if you liked this, you may like my other fics so maybe check them out too? I mean, they're gen, but anything can be slash if you put on your slash goggles, right? You can also add me on [tumblr](http://yourmorningwar.tumblr.com) and I will add you back and we can cry about life together.


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